Title: Tailwind: Days of Cottonmouths and Cotton Candy Author: Lad Moore Publisher: BeWrite Books Publisher's Address: 363 Badminton Road, Nibley, Bristol,BS37 5JF ISBN number: 1-904492-02-9 Price: $16.75 Publisher phone number and/or website address: www.bewrite.net Tailwind: Days of Cottonmouths and Cotton Candy By Lad Moore Review by Aaron Paul Lazar Author of the LeGarde Mystery Series Tailwind shines with vignettes that drip like pearls of dew, one at a time, to be savored as cool water on a parched tongue. Each story, replete with humor and pathos, transports the reader to the world of rural East Texas in the mid-twentieth century. Mr. Moores boyhood was filled with toy soldiers, hot tar on bare feet, fireflies, and shenanigans born of times less electronic, less structured, and certainly less affluent than today. Imagine sitting around a campfire with a storyteller whose history blazes with events so exotic, so traumatic, and yet so rich that they captivate you with greater intensity than the biggest Hollywood blockbuster. Now, envision the author speaking in a comfortable voice, resonant with humility and humor. This is Lad Moore. This is a writer for all mankind, a universal genius. Mr. Moore writes with a folksy elegance that is unparalleled in this age. Reminiscent of the great American masters, Tailwind should and will be included as a fundamental part of Americas heritage. The ultimate revelation comes when readers discover that Mr. Moores tales are true stemming from a tumultuous and difficult childhood in which he was abandoned by his mother at six months, barely raised by a glamorous, oft-absent father, and shipped off to military school at the age of eight. Betrayed by his fathers second wife, who stole the family fortune, Mr. Moore suffered poverty with his beloved grandmother, but thankfully was taught of deeper riches via her warm affection and exemplary morality. Tailwind becomes an extension of ones being. This reader allowed himself a story every few days stretching the experience as long as possible, relishing each chapter with nostalgic reverence. Take for example, the following vignettes: In Bologna Sandwich Ceasefires, young Lad entertains himself with sweetgum armies, creating legions of soldiers from twigs, spent bullet casings, and acorn hulls. Using rubber band missiles, he demolishes entire battalions in an afternoon. Cannon fire sweetgum burs collected in a Mrs. Tuckers lard can rained down on the standing forces from the hill above them. Shots fell equally, alternating between the armies, with full sound effects coughed out from deep in my throat. After the barrage, casualty count determined the winner and loser. Soldiers that lost their upright stance from the bombardment must be broken in half not to be recycled. A mass grave awaited them in the storm sewer. In Nitelites, young Lad imagines he is a railway signalman, waving firefly lanterns in the air as trains rush past in the dark night. He confesses of smudge pot rolling, as well. rolling smudge pots was worth it. I could suffer a little tennis-shoe cleanup to see the trail of flaming oil spilling out as the pot rolled down the street. On a good hill, and a skillful roll, I could leave a fireline from Hendrys store all the way to the underpass. Sometimes a few magnolia leaves would catch fire and add to the excitement. In Solomon of Hardesty Farm, Mr. Moore describes the enduring friendship of young Lad and an elderly black farmhand in times when racial bigotry was common. Old Solomon towered over me like a big tree with his little spectacles hanging from his nose like a pine cone, ready to break free and fall.Like a detour barricade, Solomon stood between the grape rows with his hoe, its handle worn slick and stained by the sweat from his hands. He moved in reverse like the fiddler crab zigging in the aisles of dirt. In New Cars of Short Duration, Mr. Moore describes the pain of having a callous older brother who wrecked their deceased fathers 1956 Buick almost as soon as he claimed it. Describing the incident, Mr. Moore writes, It had that strange smell of broken windshield glass an almost sweet odor like nutmeg and hot plastic. When young Lad harbored hopes of owning a car for himself, they were dashed. My dreams collapsed like a severed elevator. Tailwind sings with poetic images of life in small-town America. When one turns the last page, a sense of sorrow descends, akin to bidding farewell to a dear friend. Consolation comes only in the knowledge that Mr. Moores second book, Odie Dodie, The Life and Crimes of a Travelin Preacher Man, is now available for purchase. ****************************************************************** Lad Moore may be contacted at: pogo@shreve.net. Please place Tailwind in the Subject line. |
